


Baby, it's cold inside

by spiffingtea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cold Weather, Domestic Fluff, Fluff in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18900739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffingtea/pseuds/spiffingtea
Summary: The bunker is not good at staying warm. Dean finds his own solution to his cold problem.Short, sweet, domestic fluff.





	Baby, it's cold inside

Alright, Dean will admit it.

As much as the bunker had become Dean’s nesting ground, this was the last place he wanted to be.

It was friggin’ freezing.

Dean shuffles around the bunker floors, practically wincing. He can feel the cold of the cement crawling through the worn cotton of his socks. He refuses to invest in thermal socks. A guy has to retain _some_ of his dignity.

He wanders down the corridor, holding his arms around himself. He stops outside Sam’s door, and hammer the door with his first for a second.

“ _Sammy_! Stop hoggin’ the blankets!”

No response.

With a frown, Dean pushes open his brother’s door.

Darkness. Dean fumbles for the light. His fingers slide over the switch and flickers the room into a fluorescent glow. It’s empty.

Huh.

Too cold to care for where his little brother his, Dean stumbles into the room, pulling a face at the clothes strewn on the floor. He kicks through them with a recoil, trying to tip-toe between dirty laundry. “C’mon, you gotta have blankets somewhere.”

He stops as he senses a presence hovering by the door. He looks up ready to reprimand Sam about the state of his bedroom when he halts. Cas is gazing at him, his head tilted.

“Isn’t this Sam’s room?”

Dean refrains from rolling his eyes. "Oh yeah, felt like a change of pace, wanted to live in a pig sty, smell the... well, it ain't roses."

Cas just looks at him. With a sigh, Dean drops a shirt back on the floor. Dude can clean up after himself.

"Sam left not long ago," Cas finally, finally gives him an answer. "I believe he went on a grocery run. He thought you were asleep."

"Well I would be, if it wasn't so goddamn cold." He mutters, stepping around the clothes to get to the doorway. He looks down at Cas. "Sammy must've hoarded the blankets we have lyin' around, which is dumb because he sweats even in damn snow."

Dean goes to brush by Cas, patting him on the shoulder on his way out. He stops.

Dean doesn't realise how he's squeezing Cas' arm until a cautious, "Dean?" floats his way, and Dean opens his eyes. Cas is looking at him with a soft frown. Dean lets go, and immediately regrets it.

"Dude, how are you so friggin warm?"

A pause. Cas smirks with eyes only. "You know I'm not affected by outside temperatures. And if I let this vessel fall below a certain temperature, it wouldn't function."

Before Dean can open his mouth, Cas reaches his hand out, palm placing on Dean's cheek. Dean's lips split open in a small 'o' at the gentle warmth cupping his face. He sighs, relieved.

He eventually reaches and grasps at Cas' wrist, looking at him, but doesn't move Cas' hand.

"Can I..." Dean mumbles, but doesn’t finish; instead, he steps forward, pressing into Cas' space, and leans against him. As he rests his head against Cas' shoulder Dean feels himself hum in relief; arms curling around the angel's chest. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel Cas tense up at the motion - but feels Cas shift forward, as though he was anticipating it. After a pause, Cas' arms wrap around Dean's shoulders.

They stand there in silence in the doorway of Sam's bedroom. Dean closes his eyes; shifts so his face inches ever closer to the crook of the male's neck. He's lulled by the rhythm of the angel's chest rising; angels wouldn't need to breathe, would they?

How much of himself does Castiel choose?

“Dean.”

It’s quiet, but he feels the name roll through Cas’ chest. Dean grunts, lifting his head, tipsy from the warmth. He’s nestled close enough that his nose brushes with the scratch of Cas’ stubble. They look at each other.

“We should—”

Dean feels himself flush, starts untangling himself from Castiel’s form. “Oh, uh—”

“ --should move from Sam’s door. I believe he’d want access to his room eventually.”

Dean pauses for a long, long moment. He pulls back just enough to meet the angel’s eyes.

“You’re – you’re sayin’ you want to continue?”

Cas looks at him. Long, heavy. He inclines his head, down.

“If that is what you want, yes.”

Dean pauses, scanning the angel for a moment. Cas still has his hands firmly against Dean’s arms, even during his attempt to scramble away. Their eyes meet.

Dean breathes. “Well, alright then.”

He tentatively reaches his hand to grasp Cas’ wrists, peeling them away from his arms. He pulls Cas gently towards him as he turns and heads down the corridor.

The thought drifts by as his fingers slip to grasp Castiel’s own that Sam might have planned this; planned to get Dean and Cas close through necessity.  With a glance at Cas, whose eyes looked at him with curious promise, Dean couldn’t bring himself to care.

Dean’s door closes with a soft click, with no movement for the rest of the night.

 

 


End file.
